Hunter's Pursuit

by Kim Baldwin

  Kat nodded and left.

  Jake decided to take Kat’s advice and put aside her past for a while. She took another look at the room, its furnishings now illuminated.

  She could see that the framed pictures she’d noticed earlier were indeed photographs—nature photographs, and good ones. The wall to her left held three; the first was a vivid sunset over a lake, the vibrant streaks of pinks and purples mirrored in the water below. The next was an equally colorful shot of the aurora borealis, or northern lights—curtains of blue and green and a hint of yellow spread across a night sky. And beside that, a brilliant display of autumnal color. Sugar maples adorned with fiery reds, oranges, and yellows lined a forest trail partially obscured by a thin layer of equally colorful leaves.

  On the wall to Jake’s right was a grouping of animal photographs: a black bear and cub, a coyote, a fox with a litter of kits, and an animal she couldn’t identify—a mink or a weasel, maybe. And hanging above the dresser across from her was a majestic photo of a bald eagle in flight.

  The pictures provided bursts of color on an otherwise muted palette. The whole room was gray: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. It’s a concrete room, she realized. That’s odd. Like a basement or something. And there was no clock in the room. No TV. No stereo. No phone. Weird.

  The room made Jake feel even more disoriented and confused. The whole situation conjured up question after question with no answers in sight.

  The woman who had saved her had been nothing but kind and considerate. But there was a lot she wasn’t saying. And who’s to say that what she’s told you is the truth? Jake wondered for the first time. The thought was terrifying. She could tell you anything and you wouldn’t know any better, would you? You don’t know her real name, or where you are, or how you got here. Or even when and how you got hurt.

  A part of Jake wanted to march into the other room and demand to know exactly where the hell she was and what had happened to her. But she was in no physical shape to be making demands.

  And despite all the unanswered questions, there was something about Kat that made Jake want to trust her. She saved your life and took you in. Nursed you back to health. What would she have to gain by lying? she asked herself. Maybe she’s just a little eccentric. Not everyone has a television and a phone. And she did say we’re a long way from the nearest town.

  She wanted so much to believe Kat. She had little else to believe in at the moment. And she couldn’t deny she was powerfully attracted to the woman who had rescued her. She was anxious to get to know her better.

  She pictured Kat bringing her here and stripping off her clothes to treat her. The idea of this stranger’s hands on her naked body, especially while she was out cold, should have made her feel a bit uncomfortable. But she found the opposite to be true. The image was exciting. Provocative. Still, she was feeling a little too exposed and vulnerable in her current state.

  “Kat?” she called out. Almost before the word left her mouth, her benefactor appeared in the doorway—so fast that Jake jumped and the blanket slipped, nearly exposing her breasts. She grappled for the covers.

  Kat looked chagrined and a flush colored her cheeks. “Sorry, I, uh...I didn’t mean to startle you,” she stammered. “Whatcha need?”

  “Do you have something I might put on?” Jake asked. “I’m feeling a little, uh...”

  “Of course.” Kat came into the room and moved toward the dresser before Jake could finish. She removed a large T-shirt from a drawer and held it up for inspection. It was dark blue and plain, displaying no hot vacation destination, no alma mater insignia, no clues at all about its owner. Probably comfortably loose on Kat, it would make a short dress for her guest. “This okay?”

  Jake nodded, and Kat took the shirt over to the bed.

  “Let me help you put it on,” Kat said. She tried to appear nonchalant, but her hands were shaking, just a little, as she stood over Jake, staring at her bare shoulders and the hint of cleavage she could see. Those breasts are dangerous weapons.

  “I can probably manage myself,” Jake stuttered. She could feel herself blushing. “But thank you.”

  Kat gave her a half smile and a tiny nod and handed her the shirt. “Let me know if you need anything else. Dinner will be in an hour or so.” She turned on her heels and left, closing the door behind her.

  As soon as she was alone, Jake pushed back the blanket, exposing her nakedness. She shivered as she stretched stiff arms and shoulders, careful with her splinted arm. She felt weak and shaky.

  Her eyes fell again to the plain gold band she wore. She pulled it off with difficulty, noting the deep impression it had made on her finger.

  She looked inside for an inscription.

  *

  Kat returned to the kitchen and put her mind to work on what she could conjure up for dinner with her limited ingredients. She was a creative chef, having learned a variety of techniques in a crash course at Le Cordon Bleu cooking academy in Paris two years earlier. The class was originally a means of getting close to a target, a paranoid drug dealer with a taste for fine food, but Kat had inadvertently discovered her fondness for cooking.

  Tonight she found herself wanting to come up with something special for her guest. It was a challenge given her resources. She stepped into the pantry and scanned the shelves, selecting and then rejecting first one recipe idea, then another, stymied always by a missing key ingredient.

  Finally she found a few combinations she thought would work and carried an armful of supplies back into the kitchen. First she made a simple dough and set it aside to rise. Then she chopped and grated several ingredients and dumped them into a cooking pot and set it on the stove.

  As she worked, Jake dominated her thoughts. The smart move would be to keep her distance from the mysterious woman, but even as Kat devised a plan to return Jake to civilization, she found herself enveloped in a whimsical daydream about the two of them riding out the winter alone in the bunker.

  Kat shook off the fantasy and checked on dinner. She gave the pot a stir before retiring to the living room.

  She needed her music.

  *

  Jake read the words engraved on the inside of the wedding band for a third time. “Always and forever – S.” Who are you, my forgotten mate? she wondered. Steve? Stan? Sue? The inscription made her feel guilty about her fascination with the woman in the next room and her own inability to recall anything about this S.

  Jake’s capricious memory loss left her feeling confused and afraid. She could not remember faces or names from her past. But she felt she hadn’t lost the essence of herself—her beliefs, her sense of right and wrong, the core of her character. She believed that she held fidelity and the vows of marriage to be sacred, even if she could not recall making the commitment. She was torn between a conscience that urged fidelity to a spouse she couldn’t remember and the undeniable attraction she felt toward the woman who had saved her.

  Jake relaxed against the pillow, closing her eyes and trying to think of all the names she could—male and female—that started with S, hoping one would knock something loose in the logjam of her memory. Sid, Sean, Sylvia, Sandy, Serena, Stuart, Sally, Stacia...

  *

  Music. Sweet, haunting music. First it accompanied Jake’s dream, whatever the dream was, for it was immediately forgotten as soon as reality took over. Then she realized she wasn’t imagining the sad, soulful voice of a cello. The rich, fluid sound, played without accompaniment, rang with emotion, telling a story without words.

  Jake listened with her eyes closed, letting the music embrace her. It struck a chord deep within her. She understood it perfectly. It was the story of love and loss, regret and longing. She’d surely never heard anything so beautiful.

  Soon it was over, and there was silence. After a minute or two, the cello played again, and it wasn’t long before Jake realized she recognized this piece. It was a suite by Bach. She smiled. She somehow knew that music was an important part of her life, and the certa
inty of that pleased her.

  There was silence again. Jake waited, hoping it would resume.

  *

  She hadn’t remembered dozing off. It seemed that she slept too much, though she couldn’t be sure how much time had elapsed since she’d been brought here. She had no watch. But the sleep had done her good, because she felt markedly better after each nap. She stretched and brought her hand to her face, fingering the bandages on her nose and cheek, feeling the stitches in her forehead. Glad I wasn’t awake for that. What can’t this woman do?

  She called out, “Kat?”

  The door opened after only a moment and her host stood framed in the doorway. “Something you need?”

  “I’ve never heard anything more beautiful,” Jake said. “It was you playing, wasn’t it? Not a recording?”

  Kat reddened slightly. She looked at the floor and nodded.

  “I know the last piece,” Jake said. “Bach—the first of his six suites for cello, right?”

  Kat looked at Jake and her eyebrows rose. “You know music. That’s not something a lot of people would probably recognize.”

  Jake nodded. “I think it’s important to me.” Her eyes held Kat’s. “Your playing...it really touched me. Especially the piece just before the Bach.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “Such emotion. Grief...love...longing. It was wonderful. It really touched me.”

  Kat said nothing, staring at the other woman, her look of surprise quickly masked when Jake opened her eyes again.

  “I’ve never heard it before. I’m sure I would remember,” Jake said. “Well, I think I would, amnesia or not. Who is the composer?”

  She understood. Kat didn’t speak for a long time. She wrote music because it was the only way she knew to express her feelings. The only way she knew to deal with emotions she fought, but that sometimes welled up in her unexpectedly. She had never shared her music with anyone because it was just too...intimate. Personal.

  But although Kat hadn’t intended Jake to hear her play, she found it didn’t bother her that she had. She wanted to get to know this woman, as much as that was possible. She sensed that Jake wanted that too. Kat would not speak of her growing feelings, and there was much she could not reveal of her life, her past. But perhaps her music had shared things about herself she could never verbalize. It seemed so. Jake certainly seemed to understand the music.

  Finally Kat spoke. “I wrote it.” It was a big admission for her. It was the first time she’d given someone a glimpse at her innermost feelings in many years.

  Jake’s jaw dropped. “You? You wrote that? That’s amazing. What a gift you have. Does it have a name?”

  Kat shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s only for me.” She looked at Jake with a masked expression, but her voice was gentle when she continued. “I mean...I’ve never played for anyone before. I thought you were asleep.”

  “You’ve never played for anyone? Ever?”

  Kat shook her head.

  “Then I feel very honored. You’re good enough to be with any symphony,” Jake replied. “And that piece was just extraordinary. Have you written anything else?”

  Kat shrugged. “A few things.”

  “I hope you’ll let me hear them one day.” Jake looked directly at Kat in a way that left Kat feeling uncomfortably exposed.

  Kat looked away. “Perhaps,” she said. “Right now I need to finish dinner. It won’t be much longer.” She turned and left without meeting Jake’s eyes again.

  It was only after she had gone that Jake remembered the other reason she’d summoned Kat.

  She really wanted to see herself in a mirror.

  *

  Kat reappeared in the doorway carrying the lap tray she’d used earlier. A spicy-sweet aroma filled the room. Jake’s stomach growled. Until then, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  Kat helped Jake sit up and positioned the tray across her lap. “I’ve got lots of food, but kind of a limited supply of ingredients,” she said, nodding toward the food to encourage Jake to dig in. “I hope it’s all right.”

  Jake surveyed the contents of the tray. A large basket of pita bread was nestled beside a shallow dish of hummus, its creamy surface garnished with a splash of olive oil and a dusting of paprika. Two bowls held an aromatic stew she didn’t recognize.

  Jake attacked the food with gusto. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “Hummus I’ve had, but not as good as this. And the bread is still warm. You made it from scratch?” she managed between mouthfuls.

  “Yes,” Kat replied, reaching down to pull the easy chair close to the bed. She dropped into it and reached for a piece of pita. “I had to improvise a little, but I think everything turned out okay.” She was going to ask Jake if she needed help eating, but it was apparent the woman was managing just fine.

  “What is this?” Jake asked, sampling from one of the bowls.

  “Fakorizo,” Kat answered automatically, reaching for the other bowl. Her authentic pronunciation of the dish, with a slight rolling of the r, drew Jake’s attention.

  “Greek?”

  “Yes, Greek,” Kat replied, her mood suddenly serious, her appetite gone. She put the bowl back on the tray.

  Jake instantly regretted that her simple question had seemed to trigger something painful to Kat. Pretending to ignore the sudden change in her host, Jake dug into her bowl. The fakorizo was delicious. A medley of orzo, tomatoes, onions, and lentils, it had an unusual spicy sweetness. Glancing surreptitiously at Kat, Jake let several purrs of delight escape her lips as she chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

  But Kat’s mind was obviously elsewhere. She stared off into space, saying nothing.

  Finally stuffed, Jake leaned back against the pillows and took a deep breath. “That was just fabulous. Thank you for going to so much trouble.”

  That brought Kat back from her musings. “No trouble. Glad you enjoyed it.”

  They looked at each other in companionable silence for a long moment before Jake grinned and asked, “So, you’re a paramedic chef who plays a mean cello when she’s not saving damsels in distress?”

  Kat laughed out loud.

  It was an unexpected treat for Jake—she loved the warm, low chuckle and accompanying full smile, though she wished it had lasted longer.

  Too soon, Kat’s smile faded, and her eyes grew a little sad. “It’s kind of hard to describe what I am,” she said, suddenly serious again. “A lot of things, to be sure.”

  Jake nodded, hoping she would elaborate.

  “One of the things I like most to do,” Kat said, gesturing with one hand toward the photos hanging on the wall, “is take pictures. These were all taken within a fairly short distance of here.”

  “You really are a woman of many talents,” Jake replied, studying the photos again in light of this revelation. She wanted to hear Kat laugh again. “Do you do everything perfectly?” she teased.

  Kat tried to smile, but her eyes were sad. She didn’t reply.

  “These are all—well, just...splendid, that’s what they are,” Jake proclaimed after a moment. “So you’re a photographer, then? For a magazine?”

  “Sometimes for magazines, yes. I do mostly freelance work.”

  “Well, you certainly have a good eye,” Jake said. But why are you so evasive with every answer? When it was apparent Kat would volunteer no more, Jake prodded, “I’d love to see more of your work.”

  “That can be arranged. There’s more in the other room, when you’re able to get up and around a bit.”

  Mention of the other room piqued Jake’s curiosity. Maybe there was more she could learn about Kat out there. It also drew Jake’s attention back to the odd feature of the room she was in. “Is your whole house made of concrete? Or are we in a basement or something?”

  “Well, it is a little unusual,” Kat replied. “We’re underground. This is a bunker, built into the side of a hill.”

  Jake cocked her head. “A bunker?”

  “It’s a retreat of mine. And a par
ticularly good base for a nature photographer, as you can see. Lots of wildlife right outside. The house is built into the hill mostly to hide it.” All true. “It’s kind of like a big hunter’s blind, only I mostly hunt with a camera instead of a gun.” Kat still didn’t understand why she wanted to avoid lying to Jake. She just did. “And it’s very energy efficient because it’s underground,” she explained vaguely. You’re giving away too much.

  “Well, it is certainly very...different,” Jake said, inviting further comment, but none was forthcoming. After a long silence, she tried again. “You said we’re a long way away from a town. Don’t you get lonely here by yourself?”

  Kat shrugged. She couldn’t bring herself to answer truthfully. I didn’t know how lonely I was until you showed up. “I travel a lot. And I have a couple of other places. I split my time between them.”

  Kat didn’t elaborate, and Jake sensed this was a topic she probably shouldn’t pursue—at the moment, anyway. Do you have someone else waiting for you in those other places? she wondered. The thought was unsettling.

  But though she was terribly curious about Kat’s life, there was something else on her mind.

  “Do you have a mirror?” she asked, bringing her hand up to touch the stitches on her forehead again. “I’d like to get a look at myself.” She remembered vaguely what she looked like, but she really needed an up-close reminder. She was torn about whether she wanted the experience to jar her memory or not.

  “Yes, of course,” Kat answered. “But I’m afraid the only one I have is bolted to the bathroom wall.”

  “Well, I could use a trip there,” Jake said. “I mean, I think I can make it, if you’ll help me. I really hate bedpans.”

  “Sure,” Kat answered. “I can do that. Give me just a minute.” She rose from the chair, took the tray from the bed, and left the room. In a moment, she was back, hesitating at the side of the bed only briefly before she reached down to peel back the blankets.